Archive for Phyllis Allen

Auld Acquaintance

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , , , , on January 13, 2021 by dcairns

One last jaunt into Echo Lake Park, AKA the violently inclined idiot’s Forest of Arden.

Charlie is married to Phyllis Allen, Keystone’s own Marie-Dressler-Alike. It’s a seaside postcard marriage, the big, domineering woman and the henpecked little man. Phyllis has the sniffles, and Charlie, rather than being sympathetic, is mocking her for our benefit: he does a trombone mime, and pretends to blow his nose on her knitting.

Wikipedia informs us that the character names this time are Mr. and Mrs. Sniffels — possibly a Sydney Chaplin interpolation, as he rewrote the text and recut the action in much of his brother’s Keystone output at a later date.

Meanwhile (there are several meanwhiles in this) MABEL, we are told, ADMIRES HER HUSBAND AMBROSE. An extraordinary statement. Ambrose, of course, is Mack Swain, and there’s admittedly plenty of him to admire. Wires have not become crossed yet, but the mere introduction of wiring to a Keystone short promises that this will happen. 1914 audiences would be chuckling in anticipation.

A motor car enters frame. Mack & Mabel are enchanted by the gasoline-driven chariot. Their faces light up with religious awe. OK, so Chaplin needed to introduce an auto, and had to find a way to make it interesting (ignoring Sidney Pollack’s dictum, for the good reason that it hadn’t yet been formulated — Pollack wouldn’t be born for twenty years yet — “Let the boring crap BE boring crap”) so he has his lovers ooh and ahh at the mundane jalopy as if it were Hitler flying in at the start of TRIUMPH OF THE WILL. Instead, its someone called Joe Bordeaux and his crate promptly breaks down. Ambrose gets distracted trying to help, and Mabel is left alone…

A meting between Charlie and Mabel is now anticipated, but Chaplin pulls a fast one, instead he introduces a whole new character, “Mary, the flirt” per Wikipedia, played by the fetching Cecile Arnold. On seeing her, Charlie/Mr. Sniffels immediately distances himself from his slumbering spouse. Adultery, or anyhow a flirtery, is on the cards.

“It’s the story of a girl who is searching… searching… SEARCHING!” as Jerry Lewis will say in HOLLYWOOD OR BUST. Can Charlie help? HE WOULD BE DELIGHTED!

Scanning the area for whatever MacGuffin Cecile is hunting, Charlie’s eyes alight on her bottom as she bends to examine the lawn. A quick display of beaming innocence is produced when she catches him at it.

Charlie prowls after Cecile, leaving the snoozing Phyllis. It’s a little strange that he’s dressed as a tramp in this one, since his wife is clearly not indigent. Indignant, yes. But Charlie’s costume is now firmly established. It’s taken most of a year.

The plot is now thickened in a startling fashion as Glen Cavender abruptly appears, dragged up as some kind of dagger-wielding Turk in a fez. Cecile is with him, apparently. He stabs Charlie Sniffels in the arse, and that’s that dealt with. Charlie makes his unheard excuses and leaves.

Fleeing the dread Turk, Charlie now discovers Mabel, still waiting alone as Ambrose struggles to crank the stalled automobile, his capacious buttocks thrusting rhythmically upwards in a grotesque parody of the sexual act. Can someone recut Cronenberg’s CRASH, Guy Grand style, so that the characters are watching this on TV?

Chaplin is now composing in depth in a way that greatly enhances the visual interest.

The late John Belushi contrived to meet his wife by hitting her on the arm with an oar. Here, Sniffels, having tidied himself up a bit (a rare moment of near-pathos), thwacks Mabel across the rump with his cane — it’s up to us to decide if it’s deliberate — and then apologises. An introduction is made. Well, it’s one way of doing it.

Picking an imaginary thread from Mabel’s shoulder, Charlie demonstrates how pantomime may be used to further the gentlemanly art of bothering women. And gets a slap in the face. Things are going great.

Charlie inadvertently — it seems — hooks Mabel’s hem and lifts her skirt to expose a shapely ankle. In response to her outrage, he sternly spanks the crook of his cane, a fresh image, startling in its implications.

Mabel is outraged by all this. Charlie keeps trying to get fresh, and gets another slap. His character really is a repulsive little sex pest at this point. Ambrose has given up trying to crank that jalopy and comes to defend his wife’s honour. Except he’s too busy “getting acquainted” with Charlie — a new friend! — to listen to his wife’s complaints. So he leaves them together and returns to his solo cranking activities, a contented cuckold. He gets the car going and is offered a lift, leaving Mabel with the creepy little guy in the derby. This is getting kind of distressing.

Edgar Kennedy gets a laugh! Mabel called “Help!” and Edgar the brushy-moustached kop BOUNDS into shot. Not her shot — he’s just one shot to the right.

It’s funny because it feels like he’s just been waiting, coiled, in an unseen third shot just to the right of the one he springs into.

Then, defying the Kuleshovian imaginary geography that has us expecting him to cross into Mabel’s frame from screen right, he emerges in the background behind Charlie (more depth staging) so we can have British pantomime “He’s behind you!” poignancy/dramatic irony. Chaplin, the master of suspense.

Mabel now relaxes, encourages Charlie to incriminate himself, as Kennedy hovers menacingly behind him with truncheon erect and wagging. Charlie is overjoyed by Mabel’s new smiling responses. His quaint blandishments have borne sexy fruit. They always yield in the end! Very good slow burn response to the truncheon and then its owner. Kennedy is not only a slow-burner himself, but the cause of slow-burning in others.

They’re off! Konstable Kennedy pursues Charlie like an eager dog, lolloping round the bushes… Charlie indulges in some purely-for-fun buttock-piercing with a pin, even though this gains him nothing. But when a foe presents his backside, you have to either boot it or jab it with something sharp. Them’s the rules.

The chase circles dizzyingly around Mabel, with Charlie pausing to raise his derby — he is, after all, a gentleman, albeit a sleazy one —

This plot needs added astringency, so Ambrose dismounts the jalopy a mere shot away from Phyllis, now awake and back to her knitting. He drops his kerchief at her feet, accidentally. But now this is a tricky situation. Phyllis assumes this was a deliberate act, designed to allow him to check out her ankles. Embarrassing. And so much psychology going on in a plain americain wide shot. These wraiths of 106 years ago are still thinking thoughts and beaming them into our eyeballs as if we were all there, in the shade of a Los Angeles recreation area, two pandemics ago.

Ambrose inexplicably exacerbates his blunder by sitting down next to Phyllis, while a random dog photobombs the cast.

Evading the Kop, Charlie backs into the Turk, who then takes a mis-aimed blow to the fez from Kennedy’s truncheon.

All men are sexual nuisances, part 2: Mack is now pinching Phyllis’s cheek and capering on in nonconsensual fashion. The difference between Phyllis and Mabel is that when Phyllis hauls off and slaps you, you stay slapped. Now she’s yelling for a cop and Mack is reduced to a pitiful, whining schoolboy begging her not to get him in trouble.

Eyeline trouble. With all these tangled plot threads, it’s not too surprising when Kennedy exits Mack’s frame screen left and then arrives in Phyllis’s frame left, a feat requiring either a single-frame spin by the character or by the viewer’s brain. Still, Phyllis is able to sic Kennedy on Swain, and now both he and Charlie are fugitives from erotic justice.

Ambrose collides with the Turk, who again receives an accidental thwack from Kennedy. It’s called a night stick because it makes you see stars. Kennedy, realising he’s concussed a Turk by mistake, wallops him again on purpose just for being foreign.

Mabel meets Phyllis, and the #MeToo movement is born.

The Charlie blunders upon the scene and, after some more suspense, is presented to Phyliis’s new bosom buddy. Shock! Charlie goes weak at the knees. Then, luckily for him, some footage goes missing and when we rejoin the scene, Phyllis has been abstracted by Melesian jump-cut. Charlie runs off, and Mabel is alone at last.

Kennedy is still chasing Ambrose and thumping the poor Turk, if that’s what he is. Charlie has rejoined his wife and inexplicably (and disappointingly) escaped dismemberment at her hands. But now Kennedy has located Charlie. More dramatic irony type panto suspense — Chaplin’s favourite device here, along with the in-depth framing he’s discovered.

The runing about is getting repetitive but when Mabel introduces Ambrose to Phyllis, reprising the earlier meet-uncute that got Charlie in hot water, the device works nicely, building on our anticipation. And hopefully there won’t be any lost frames this time so we’ll see what happens. Not than much, actually. And we’re back to running and cowering in bushes. It’s looking like Mabel might go off with the big woman, as she just had in TILLIE’S PUCTURED ROMANCE, for sapphic consolation. Will Charlie and Ambrose do likewise? But first, Kennedy’s kosh at last finds its mark, clobbering each cranium, and the creeps are collared.

But before the can be konfined in klink, their wronged women plead piteously on their behalf. Kennedy is confused by the discovery that the woman molested by masher #1 is married to masher #2 who is married to the woman molested by masher #1. His brain is going in circles. He storms off to beat the shit out of Henry McCoy, who was there at the start as leading man in Chaplin’s MAKING A LIVING and is here again, bothering another lovely in another part of the park. THWACK! Ouch!

Realizing their lucky escape, the foursome congratulate one another (?) and the thing more of less stops. An above-average park romp that does show Chaplin developing some new visual ideas.

Thoroughly Unmodern Tillie

Posted in FILM, Theatre with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 6, 2021 by dcairns

TILLIE’s PUNCTURED ROMANCE (1914) isn’t highly rated — but we should give Sennett some credit for jumping into the feature film racket with both flapshod feet, even when he could have had little idea of what a feature comedy would be like (nobody had made one).

There’s also something poetically apt about Sennett co-directing with Charles Bennett (not the writer of THE 39 STEPS, no — but the guy who sings “Oh, Mr. Kane” in CITIZEN KANE, yes). I want more rhyming co-directors. Christopher Nolan & Xavier Dolan? Michael Mann & Ahn Hung Tran? Susanne Bier & Lars Von Trier? Suggest more!

I’m devoting three posts to this as it’s a six-reeler I guess and certainly thrice the length of any previous Chaplin.

And it starts very nicely, with imported star Marie Dressler emerging from stage curtains to smile shyly at the (imagined) audience, then dissolving into her movie character — and then another dissolve transports that character into her natural habitat. This seems to me better than anything in De Mille’s THE SQUAW MAN, sometimes considered the first feature film, but in reality only the first extant one.

Enter Mack Swain in a big rustic beard, to give Tillie/Marie the traditional Keystone kick up the arse. Welcome to the studio. Sennett tried to cover his costs by shoehorning every comedian in his stable into this movie, which is how Chaplin comes to make his inauspicious feature debut.

And is that Teddy the Keystone Dog ambling through lower frame? Apparently not, though he does seem to have been around pictures at the time. I tell you what, let’s start an unfounded rumour that it’s him.

Enter Chaplin, as “the stranger,” a kind of man with no name I guess, in a straw hat. Always interesting to see him as a villain, and he does it very well. This is his last baddie until Hynkel and Verdoux, I guess. He enters, back to camera, and we stay on that back a loooong time. Keystone has finally discovered preparation and suspense — well, they had to, a feature film made at the pace of a typical Sennett one-reeler would have required a huge budget.

Okay, it’s definitely not Teddy. we could christen him Freddy the Keystone Other Dog

Tillie is playing “catch-the-brick” with Not-Teddy, and accidentally hits the stranger in the nose with her lobbed bit of masonry. Very good pratfall from CC, and it all makes for a very Keystone meet cute. Less than three minutes in and two of their signature moves have been displayed. How long until a pastry is flung?

Charlie aggressively woos Tillie. Wonderful to see Dressler moving about so nimbly in head-to-toe wide shot. And the physical contrast is lovely, with Chaplin like a mosquito thinking of alighting on a tempting jelly.

Charlie and Swain have a drink and everything goes out of focus (nitrate decomposition).

People seem to communicate not by intertitles, but by kicking one another up the arse. I wonder how much nuance they can put into it / get out of it? Dressler’s facial expressions seem to suggest quite a bit. Without the use of her fantastic voice, though, she’s reduced to mainly being a gurner. And the fact that everyone tends to pitch their performances at the camera instead of at one another is a bit tiring. Chaplin was right to limit that to himself as actor, and to use it for audience rapport, not to telegraph things we might have missed. Expositional camera-directed pantomime is the worst.

Charlie’s “look” is yet another fascinating variation. He has a tiny moustache, but a DIFFERENT tiny moustache. Not a toothbrush. There doesn’t seem to be a name for this style or breed. It’s a bit like Max Linder’s chevron-style , but it’s in two pieces. Which is weird. Did it influence Cantinflas and his repulsive face-fungus? But the Spaniard’s two segments have grown further estranged, leaving his philtrum and most of his upper lip area bare, a gaping no-man’s land, while the hairs cluster together like herd animals at the corners of the mouth as if drawing sustenance from stray saliva.

The baggy pants and cane are still there. Chaplin has worked out that his brand definition is beneficial to him, but he needs to delineate between the Little Fellow and this little creep.

Speaking as we were of whiskering, I like that Mack Swain has a portrait of Lincoln on his wall, evidently the inspiration for his unsightly “Irish” beard.

Charlie sets about wooing the hefty hayseed for her father’s loot. This is good material for him, though hardly the kind of thing he’d get up to in his regular characterisation, partially-formed as it yet was. Dressler gets to have fun acting girlish, and would presumably have appealed to John Waters: “I like fat people who don’t know they’re fat.” She’s very graceful, but can drop it in an instant and stagger with pachyderm ponderousness: one thinks of her breaking stride at the end of DINNER AT EIGHT.

This film is usually dismissed, but I have to say, they’ve correctly worked out that the way to make a Keystone feature is to linger on character interplay in simple scenes, not to pack the screen with the usual busy-busy fussing or frenetic action. Cheaper, as well as less exhausting!

The lovers woo by slinging roses at one another. Tillie can hurl a blossom hard enough to knock Charlie on his ass. Of course, it’s not long before bricks are being tossed: this being the countryside, there are plenty lying about (it’s Keystone country).

Charlie proposes an elopement, and it’s a crystal-clear bit of mime, aided by Marie’s shocked, awestruck, delighted responses. His proposal that they rob her father requires a bit more explicit for-our-benefit gesticulation, but plays OK.

Dressler dresses up to elope, donning an extraordinary hat which seems to have a miniature egret or something posing atop it. I can imagine such a garment appealing to Bjork but few others. Anyway, get used to it, she doesn’t get another costume change for ages.

Enter Mabel Normand, forearms immersed in an almighty muff (elbow-deep in animal as they were, women of the era could have taken to veterinary practice as to the manner born), as THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM. We’re in Part Two now, and the plot, a thin gruel thus far, duly thickens. Mabel advances into a gaping, PIG ALLEY close-up. Either Mack Sennett or Charles Bennett, has been looking at Griffith (with whom Sennett used to work). It’s rumoured that Sennett decided to throw everything into TILLIE’S after learning that DWG was at work on what became BIRTH OF A NATION, but Hobart Bosworth’s THE SEA WOLF and Cecil B. DeMille & Oscar Apfel’s THE SQUAW MAN were already out there, making money, so that influence is not needed.

The mini-skirmish with Mabel in the street is just padding, though, since the trio face off again in a restaurant, another of those bustling, hyperactive scenes Sennett had a weakness for. Interesting to see Mabel as a villainess.

Tillie gets drunk (falls down a fair bit), Charlie steals her ill-gotten dowry and absconds with Mabel. A woman walks by in the background grinning right into the lens, but if the stars can do it, why not random Los Angeles citizens?

Tillie is ousted and rousted, into the waiting arms of a kop, while Charlie and Mabel laugh wickedly from a presumably adjoining shot. (Keystone movies are very Kuleshovic, since near everything’s a master shot and when you have two wide shots joined together by glances or shoved characters passing from one frame to the other, you never ever get a wider view that links the two frames explicitly.)

Mercifully, Tillie is having too good a time being drunk for the first time to notice that she’s been robbed, abandoned and arrested. The local kop shop is just a palace of drunken hilarity to her. So they put her in solitary confinement with five men and two other women.

Charlie and Mabel go shopping — he is floored by the department store’s swing door. Hinges! There’s just no combatting them.

In the jail cell, Tillie is assailed by varied print formats — things keep blazing into high-contrast glare, with curved corners flashing momentarily onto the frame, a bit of Lynchian strangeness that prepares us for the possibility of Marie Dressler inexplicably mutating in her cell into Balthasar Getty. Which wouldn’t be that much weirder than what’s gone before.

Further developments introduce Phyllis Allen, Keystone’s own Marie Dressler type, as a prison matron (though Tillie isn’t in prison yet, just in the hoosegow’s lock-up) and co-director Charles Bennett himself as Tillie’s rich uncle. Also Edgar Kennedy as his butler. Having a rich uncle duly gets Tillie released, and a good thing too as she’s now entered the lachrymose phase of inebriation, weeping and kissing the desk sergeant’s bald head. “You th’ bess pal in th’world, thass wha’ you are…”

Mabel and Charlie emerge from the clothing store, all gussied up. Mabel is now the full Theda Bara. Charlie no longer had the baggy pants, his divorce from the Little Fellow is complete. (But we can’t see his feet!) This movie is like his entire progress at Keystone played in reverse. Mabel and Charlie have a ton of fun just standing in the street interacting. Makes me wish we could have seen them actually clothes shopping.

Admittedly, Tillie’s weird pyjama-dress-pantsuit thing is pretty impressive too. She’s still having tipsy fun, roughhousing with the Kops, making a great play of jumping off one of those huge kerbs they had in them days. I guess having a massive step like that would actually potentially deflect a cartwheel coming at you sideways, so they probably saved a lot of lives. If you were on the sidewalk you were kind of safe, unlike now. On the other hand, the pedestrians must’ve been walking about on broken ankles alla time.

That’s End of Part 2 —

TO BE CONTINUED

The Sunday Intertitle: Domestic Blistering

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on January 3, 2021 by dcairns
Low-res turns Keystone’s crisply restored images into a grayscale version of the vile daubings of Jack Vettriano

Charlie is at home, with Mabel and their bawling infant. We haven’t seen him much in a domestic setting. Even when he’s at home, it’s usually been a boarding house or a hotel. So this is an interesting extension of the character.

Charlie is not particularly at home at home: he immediately kicks over a pot of boiling water, scalding his shoeless feet (we can see that he does not really need those big tramp shoes), then scorches himself on the stove. A series of rather ouchy, burny-burny gags. Each time he tortures himself he turns to Mabel reproachfully, as if it’s her fault. When she leaves, he reproaches the baby.

A cigarette hangs from his mouth. Charlie isn’t a heavy smoker on screen, but the dangling fag seems to suit him better than the clay pipe he sported last time.

That baby is not having a great time. Chaplin has met someone he can’t entertain. The kid seems to like Mabel better: her return actually stops the red-faced tyke from wailing. Also, weirdly, when Charlie starts improperly carrying the little beast around by the scruff of its Edwardian romper suit, it quietens right down. Seems to find the experience interesting. It would feel like flying, I suppose, only with an uncomfortable pressure in the crotch area.

Rather alarming gag where baby is playing with a real handgun while Charlie reads the paper. I’m reminded of the baby, fork and power socket gag in Mauritzio Nichetti’s ICICLE THIEVES: it depends on the audience’s understanding of the filmmaker’s goodwill: they’re not going to have anything actually terrible happen. The fact that Charlie is also reclining in the baby’s crib barely registers in the midst of this outrage.

A subplot is generated: Helen Carruthers is playing Clarice (a name with now-inescapable Lecterish associations), and she asks Ambrose (Mack Swain) to mail a letter which is addressed to her lover. Ambrose is married to Phyllis Allen, Keystone’s resident Marie Dressler type. Now read on…

Louis Reeves Harrison of the Montgomery Journal wrote this positive review about HIS TRYSTING PLACE: “The comic spirit is entirely too deep and subtle for me to define. It defies analysis. The human aspect is certainly dominant. It is funniest when it is rich in defects of character. The incongruity of Chaplin’s portrayals, his extreme seriousness, his sober attention to trivialities, his constant errands and as constant resentment of what happens to him, all this has to be seen to be enjoyed.” He then describes the burning stuff as if it were the highest of comedy, which in screen terms I guess it just about was at that time. Chaplin is interested in comic behaviour beyond the narrow Keystone limits of punching and kicking, and that’s all new in 1914.

Mack Swain exits his apartment building, sucking on the head of his cane in a perfect anticipation of THE MALTESE FALCON’s Joel Cairo.

Charlie also heads out, after giving a quick brush to his coat, boots, and fingernails (with the same brush, obvs). Mabel is distraught at his desertion, which is inexplicable really. Baby really brightens up for the first time, and is all excited about somebody standing just off-camera. The actual parent/orphanage superintendent? Before Charlie’s gone, however, there is some actual affectionate byplay between man and wife, and we learn that the baby’s name is Peter. I should go back in and use his name when referring to him, shouldn’t I?*

The family scene is so cute, Chaplin cuts in for a closer look. Then he leaves, blowing his nose on the doormat. This gag, like the brush one, satisfies two requirements at once: it displays Charlie’s grottiness; and it showcases his ability to repurpose or transform the common day-to-day objects of life.

Comedy racism! A black teenager loitering by the store is introduced with the title card A DARK OMEN. One would like to think that Chaplin wasn’t responsible for this cheap shot. I know, let’s blame Syd. He did rework the titles on a lot of his half-brother’s Keystone flicks, generally to add cheap(er) jokes exactly like this one. (The card is absent in the current YouTube copy, thankfully.)

Then, while Charlie’s in the store, since the jump cut hasn’t been invented yet, we cut to a close view of Mabel playing with her little Peter. It’s nice to see her being maternal, although this manifests itself in a very Keystone way: making baby kick himself in the face. Which, to be fair, he seems to really enjoy.

The black kid’s narrative purpose, now we cut back to him, seems to be to make fun of Charlie for buying a kid’s toy. And since I sense the toy is going to be significant later, really the black kid is there to make the toy-buying vaguely entertaining.

Now the farce aspect of the film starts to build, as Charlie and Mack Swain are going to meet at a lunch bar. The place is populated by exaggerated comic types: Filthy Overalls Man and Long Grey Beard Man.

Note something exciting: as Charlie pauses outside, we can see a herd of cows pass by, reflected in the window pane. L.A. was really still a frontier town, it seems.

More repurposing of the everyday: Charlie wipes his hands on the old guy’s beard. This is also another kind of transmutation, making Beard Man into an object. Suddenly I realise that Charlie’s jacket is in better nick than usual. As befits a husband and father, his whole look is less tramp-like. But this is definitely the same character, fairly well-established now.

Charlie in medium shot reacts to Mack’s soup-straining. Always interesting to see the people a little closer in their face-paint, even though the visual comedy usually require head-to-toe framing, which Chaplin provides. He’s starting to learn when closer framing can add something.

When the meal breaks into a brawl, it’s definitely more comic in wide shot. A pie is flung by Chaplin — and misses! And an intertitle helps us understand that Mack has fled with the wrong overcoat. Charlie flings a second pie which Kuleshovs from the film set into the street location across town and strikes some smartly-dressed rando, splurch in the kisser.

Charlie makes a magnificent exit in triumph, twirling his cane, accidentally smacking the counter with it, and spinning round at the noise in aggression/panic at the “noise”, not realising that he is himself the source. It’s by now fully apparent that Chaplin can take something ordinary, an exit, simple A-B stuff, and imbue it with comedy value and character, which his co-stars hadn’t really thought to do (maybe Arbuckle, a bit? and in France, Linder). They needed all that frenetic pace because without it, the knockabout would have been interspersed with dead air as the comics trotted from set-up to set-up, powerless without a a brick to throw or a hammer to swing. We’re also told that Chaplin had particularly concentrated on his exits and entrances because he knew the Keystone cutters wouldn’t be able to delete those.

The inevitable Echo Lake Park, with its distinctive bridge. Mack meets his Mrs. The swapped coat is going to come into play soon. It’s a ticking time bomb made of cloth.

Charlie returns home and Mabel, in her joy, burns him with the iron. He’s going to look like Freddy Krueger by the end of this one.

Now, looking for baby Peter’s present, Mabel finds the incriminating letter from Clarice. Is it made more incriminating by the fact that Clarice never sealed the envelope? I suppose it is. It doesn’t make any sense, but never mind, it fulfills the basic requirements of a domestic misunderstanding (the bar is set low on such things, as a glance at real life will tell you).

Hmm, Clarice has written “I could not live without seeing you again,” which is a bit scary since her letter now looks like never being delivered. Is the movie going to end with her lifeless body being fished from Echo Lake? Or will little Peter lend her his handgun? I do hope not.

Mabel reads the note and blows her top. The best bit is breaking the ironing board over Charlie’s head. (Missing from current YouTube version!) Probably the least painful thing that’s happened to him at home, if you think about it. I wondered for a moment if she might hit him with Peter, but she showed admirable restraint.

The same cannot be said for Mack Swain’s performance as he canoodles with Carruthers, sucking his cane in false-moustache ecstasy.

A kop appears, as is customary. He diagnoses Charlie as nuts after observing his distrait manner. Charlie then accidentally sits on Carruthers, which leads to striking up a conversation with her —

As if in a nineteen-tens version of TROP BELLE POUR TOIS, Mabel now comes to suspect that her husband is cheating on her with the matronly Carruthers. How could he? Or why would he? The ways of love are strange. But nothing a smack in the face with a loose jacket can’t fix.

Really great marital slapstick as Mabel beats up Charlie in and around a bin. These two play so well together now. (“You’re not my type. And I’m not yours,” Mabel told Charlie when he tried to flirt.)

Meanwhile, Helen Carruthers finds the baby’s bottle intended for small Peter, inside what she believes to be her husband’s coat. The implications are clear.

Swain finds Mabel raging, and attempts to console her, a good, or at any rate good-sized Samaritan. This earns him a kick up the arse from Charlie, something made inevitable by composition, framing, posture, anatomy, the whole enchilada. Rather than going for surprise, Chaplin builds up to the arse-kick with ritualistic care.

Mabel kicking Charlie so he head-butts Mack in the midriff and propels him into the bin is also rather beautiful. Simple knockabout has come a long way in a year. Keyestone always had these guys with amazing physical skills (circus artistes, many of them), but you didn’t see the gags cleanly played in suitable dramatic circumstances until around now.

Mabel starts yanking Charlie about by the collar and he does the accelerated motion head-waggle he’s make good use of later when Eric Campbell got him by the throat. This is, I think, its first appearance.

The kop turns up, holding the (abandoned) baby, and there’s a beautiful group scene of everyone trying to act normal for his benefit. Amazing.

Everything gets resolved. Then Charlie hands over the stray love letter and lands Mack right in it. We end, however, with a charming family scene, Mabel and Charlie and little Peter who, reunited with his father, starts bawling again.

*Did I remember to do that?